A Midwinter Night's Dream
by MrBubbles
Summary: Emily Quartermaine finds herself somewhere between life and something else......
1. Slumber

~*~*~A Midwinter Night's Dream~*~*~  
  
Chapter 1  
  
"Emily, sweetie......"  
  
I can hear Monica's voice muffled by the door between us.  
  
"Em?"  
  
And AJ's.  
  
I could answer them--really I know I should. But for some reason beyond me I don't, and I hear the door hesitantly crack open.  
  
"Hey, lunch is-- oh."  
  
I should get up.... I never intended to fall asleep, much-less nap for this long. But before I can even attempt to shake this lethargy off, the door closes, and I can hear an exchange of muffled words.  
  
Cook will be mad if I let lunch get cold....... She's probably yell. But hell, if I went now the odds are good someone would yell anyway.  
I should get up.  
  
There's a knock at the door and I wonder if Monica's decided to drag me out of bed.  
  
"Emily?"  
  
A pause.  
  
"Emily?........ Dinner's ready....."  
  
Mentally I shake my head. This is too weird. I feel like time is floating around me, but not in order- with no sense to it-- no feeling. How long has it been? Dinner--wow.  
Once again the door cracks open.  
  
"Sweetheart?"  
  
This time her voice is tinged with fear, and I start to feel bad for scaring her. But still I can't seem to answer her. It's like I'm miles below the surface of reality, and frankly, I just don't have the urge to swim.  
  
"Emily...... wake up."  
  
Her voice rises when she gets nervous..... It always has...... right now she sounds like a whistle.  
  
"Emily.... Oh god! Ned, AJ, Reginald! Someone! Get up here and bring my medical bag!"  
  
I'm a horrible person to do this to her. Just because my life sucks right now doesn't mean I should cause her stress on my account.  
  
I should really get up.  
  
"Monica! What's going on?!"  
  
Of course.. Ned...... Always my night in shining armor.  
  
"I don't know! I can't get her to wake up!"  
  
I can imagine the scene right now.....Monica's concerned expression, Ned shooting her a questioning look then--  
  
"Emily? Come on sweetheart, time to get up...."  
  
Yep, there it is.  
  
"Emily, wake up. Can you hear me?!"  
  
He's full-out yelling now, but still I can't rouse myself to respond.  
  
"I think we better take her to GH."  
  
Now I *need* to get up.  
  
A few minutes pass and I hear a car door slam. No wait-- that can't be right....... I don't remember being lifted and carried...... Maybe I really did pass out. But now I can hear sliding doors, beeping, voices-- all sliding in volume-- a property my matured senses have come to associate with movement. How can I be moving if I can't feel it? I feel like a disconnected voice in my body, simply floating around inside, lost.  
  
"Dr. Quartermaine!" I hear someone exclaim, "What have you got?"  
  
They slip into professional tone. I always used to love that...... the way my parents could command authority, the way people's attitudes would change around them. It made me feel special to be associated with them-- more important. But then there was the Dorman thing, and then of course, Alan's long-standing, publicly-known abuse of drugs. I guess the shining Quartermaine name became tarnished to me then..... not that I didn't do my fair share of destruction. God, who knows...... maybe I was a catalyst.  
  
It's quiet now, and it takes me a moment of consideration to finally decide I must be in my own room. Probably laying down....... maybe in a hospital gown. I don't know. Right now I really should be panicking. I mean god! Where the hell is my body? Am I sitting or lying down? Is someone holding my hand? Am I hot or cold? When I went to bed last   
night it was snowing.....  
  
This must be how it feels to be a lost soul...... the literal sense.  
  
I feel like I'm playing a trick on everyone. Like I should open my eyes and say, "just kidding!" But I don't...... and I don't know why. I just don't.  
  
I turn my attention back to the sounds of the room and now the voices. Monica's shrill voice alerts me that they are talking about my "condition". A new, stronger male voice dominates the conversation, and I conclude it must be the doctor. He's talking about my pupils. It makes me slightly angry to think about it...... Last time they checked my eyes, they were asking what drugs I took. Oh well-- the fact that they've pried my eyes open and shined a light in them and I didn't notice-- well, let's just say the surprise replaces any offense I could take to the action. I hate to inform them, but I haven't taken any drugs, and I didn't see the light..... pun intended.  
  
I've had this feeling before.... like I'm a fishing lure.... cast out, away from life.... just waiting for someone to reel me back in. I hope someone does soon, before I get swallowed whole.  
  
Until now, I really haven't feared what's happening to me now...... but one word manages to slice through my thoughts from the outside and cause my soul to actually go cold.  
  
"Coma." 


	2. Realization

Chapter 2  
"Coma."  
  
I would laugh from the shock of it if I could. Coma? I need to tell them they're wrong, I'm right here...... but still, I don't. Instead, I listen with amusement as the doctor proceeds to ramble off a series of technical terms.  
  
"Somatoform Disorder......... psychoanalyze...... dissociative......... possible depersonalization disorder...."  
  
It's stupid..... the way they have to say something so simple in so many syllables. Maybe I just don't feel like waking up. Ever think of that? Of course not.... it doesn't sound complex enough.....  
  
Really I'm not sure why I don't get up. But now that I've gotten over the guilt of not answering them, I'm actually starting to kinda enjoy this. It's almost relaxing-- like a little vacation..... Actually, the more I thing about it, it's *exactly* like a vacation-- like I just picked up last night and left-- left behind my family, my home, my past, my future-- my entire life... and now I'm somewhere where I can just be a nondescript person, someone without a care in the world-- a traveler.  
  
Oh god how wonderful it feels to leave my problems behind and not have to think about them....... and here there is no one to remind me...... well, except myself.  
  
Okay, so I'm on a little vacation from reality.  
  
The room is quiet now, and I wonder who's sitting with me. I know they would never leave me alone like this. Of course not...... when 'poor little Emily' is sick everyone comes to the rescue. It's too damn bad I don't receive this much attention when I'm conscious.....  
  
I shouldn't say that...... I've gotten used to it. I mean it's not like I'm a little kid..... I don't need constant supervision. I guess it's just kinda nice to know that not everyone is disappearing on me.  
  
"Emily, sweetheart.... Please wake up...."  
  
Monica.  
  
"Everyone's here..... We're all waiting for you to come back to us....."  
  
Did I call it or what?  
  
"We miss you...."  
  
Only when you notice I'm gone.  
  
And I've been gone a lot longer then you know........  
  
I really do need to just shake this off....... I'm sounding so bitter to myself, and I hate that, I really do..... But sometimes I just can't help it. She doesn't deserve it...... She changed her life for me, so that I could have a home, when the last person I had left disappeared on me.  
  
God how I miss my mom right now..... It's so funny how I can actually go for days without thinking about her, and then find the misery collected like a snowball on another day..... multiplied by a sense of guilt for *not* missing her those few days of course...... But still, remembering brings a sense of fear to me now, instead of happiness.....  
  
She used to wake me up every morning by pulling up my shade and calling out in a sing-song voice.... A voice I can't hear anymore....... not even in my head.  
  
'Rise and shine morninglory!' She'd say, 'Time to start another day!' When she died, I was so sure another day would never come because she wouldn't be there to announce it.... it almost made me afraid to go to sleep at night. But I learned I was wrong-- the sun still rose and set, and life, sometimes against my wishes, went on.......  
  
Maybe she called me 'Sunshine'.......  
  
Oh mama, if you're there somewhere, I still remember you, even if I don't have the memories anymore..... 


	3. Hurting

Chapter 3  
Last night it was snowing........ I can remember it vividly-- staring out my bedroom window, watching the frozen teardrops fall from heaven.  
  
Poetic isn't it?  
  
I can't help it though.... I've always had this romantic idea about the rain..... The first time it rained after she died, I think I must have stood there, inside the warm Quartermaine mansion, staring out at the cold desolation, and begging for her forgiveness for making her cry, for the better part of a day.....  
  
Now it doesn't need to rain to make me believe she's crying for me.  
  
I've failed her-- I know I have. And no matter how much anyone tries to convince me otherwise, I know what she wished for me when she left-- and I don't have it. I have a family, and I have friends, but I still don't have it-- I'm still alone. I'm alone in a room of people....  
  
So I don't know how to fix it Mama....... god knows I've tried. And lately, I've felt it pulling at me-- dragging me down, drowning me...... It's just gotten so intense, this loneliness, that I think it's made me cling harder and harder to Nikolas Cassadine, like a desperate person to a life preserver. It's not fair..... but it's uncontrollable..... I have this guttural urge to endear myself to people, to him....... I suppose some shrinks call that a 'cry for help'.  
  
Poor Nikolas...... I know he doesn't want me. Not like that anyway.... but the more it becomes evident to me, the harder I try. I don't want to-- I want to just let it go..... Stop making a fool of myself.... But the more I embarrass myself, the worse I become. It's just so damn degrading to be throwing myself at him........ and the fact that I'm growing increasingly aware of it, well, let's just say it doesn't do a helluva lot for my self-esteem.  
  
Whatever that is.  
  
I don't remember the last time I was 'okay' being alone...... the last time I was comfortable in my own skin. I know I must have at one time in my life-- maybe when I was a kid.... yeah, probably..... when I didn't know what the world was, muchless what it wasn't. When loneliness was simply sitting in the dark at bedtime. Now I cherish moments like those. Those few times I can isolate myself in nothingness.... I know I sound like I'm contradicting myself, but it's different. When I *make* myself alone, it actually feels good.... it's something I can do, I can control... I'm alone because I want to be, not just because I am.  
  
I can't keep track of who has come to visit now..... I've been thinking too much. Maybe if I was listening I could have heard something new. I kinda feel like a little kid hiding on the stairs on Christmas Eve night........ I'm listening in on conversations I'm not supposed to hear. Only difference is, I am supposed to be hearing these.....  
  
"Emily, dear....."  
  
Oh god. Grandmother. How long have I been under? They usually don't pull out the big guns until at least a few days have passed.....  
  
"Dear, we really do all miss you very much..... I do so wish you'd wake up..."  
  
She always has had a way of saying the same thing differently.... if that makes any sense. Okay, now I can feel the guilt reappearing...... I need to think of better things, take my mind off the pain I'm causing on the outside, just for a little while more at least......  
  
I think she's gone already. They never let her stay long...... it tires her out. She's not as young as she used to be.... not that I've ever known her to be particularly young... but youthful...... well, I've never known her to be anything but.  
  
I think that we all treat her age with a certain sense of doom because of a fear so pure and simple it scares us. Grandmother binds our family together. She's the one that makes us whole...... the one that often serves as our ambassador to the rest of the world. I can't imagine what we'd do without her....... probably kill each other.  
  
Sometimes I think it's because everyone's known her for so long..... The Quartermaines grew up with her, as did many of the citizens of Port Charles. They can say they've known her all their lives...... I can't. I can't even say I've known her most of mine.  
  
Lots of people can say they haven't known a family member their whole life.... older brothers and sisters.. but I can't even say I've known my parents. I've only known my family for a few years. Not even half my life...... In fact I can say I've never had a relationship with anyone that's been life-long.  
  
God, aren't I deprived?  
  
Poor little rich girl Emily..... I've actually heard girls call me that at school. Not that I'd ever confront them.... They're right. I don't have anything to complain about. How can people pity me when I live in a mansion, and I have a great family, and friends, and even an amazing career now..... What right do I have to be sad?  
  
Sometimes I catch myself thinking horrible, horrible things...... like if I had a disease, or had a bad childhood or some traumatic event in my life, maybe I would at least have an excuse to look back on. I could tell people I was depressed in the past because I had a reason to be, something they would understand..... no one sympathizes with the pain of someone who has everything.  
  
Elizabeth-- She amazes me. She amazes people. Sometimes I wish I was her, I wish I had gone through the same thing as her, simply because I've seen the change. She's become admirable. A new person. Someone people respect, and commend for simply having the courage to get out of bed in the morning....   
  
And she has a reason to hurt....... I don't.  
  
But I hurt anyway. 


	4. Butterfly

Okay, so a few questions-like I said, this story is a bit of a flashback. This takes place back around the time of the Lucky-fire/Faison thing and all the events that took place that spring.  
And don't worry- I'm sure Jason will visit.  
  
I really love responses-Really! Feel free to leave one!  
Chapter 5  
  
I wonder if I could. I wonder if I just calmed, and let go of everything, if I could die. I watched my mom do it-- it didn't look that hard.  
  
Wow. So I'm suicidal too. I guess I never realized that before.....   
  
You learn something new everyday.  
  
I should stop thinking that way. I can just imagine what people would say if I told them that..... Probably something along the lines of 'You can't! You have too much too live for!'. Always so dramatic. And I'd probably have to reply, 'Yeah? Like what?' Which of course sounds even more ridiculous...... That's okay. Seems like everything coming out of my mouth these days sounds asinine.  
  
I wonder when I started doing it..... Started talking but not saying anything. I remember when I gave up back at the mansion. I was just too tired of fighting so I started saying whatever I thought people wanted to hear. Jason-- there's a supreme example for ya. He tells me that my nephew and godson isn't *really* his, but is, and I simply nod and smile and say "you're right Jason, whatever you say Jason". Oh yeah, the fire is gone. Take life and absorb it like a big, messy sponge-- but don't do anything with it! Don't process it, or enjoy it, or even *live* it.........  
  
Maybe that's why sleeping is so nice-- easier to be sponge-like.  
  
There's someone in my room........ I wait but they aren't saying anything. It actually grows quite unnerving-- Who do I know that would just sit peacefully with me? Jason I suppose..... But no. That's not it. It just doesn't feel the same.  
  
A few more minutes pass, and the presence is driving me crazy. Who would sit so humbly with me in a stark hospital room? I feel like the lead character in a horror movie-- I have an unbearable desire to pull the mask off and see the face of the perpetrator...... almost enough to make me wake up.  
  
But not enough. I still can't rouse myself.  
  
I wonder if this kind person knows how they are frustrating me....... It's really quite funny if you think about it. Someone's docility makes me want to scream out in a crazed madness, but all they can see is my calm, cool and unconscious body.  
  
Maybe it's my prince in shining armor.  
  
The thought makes me giddy-- but not in a happy, schoolgirl-type of way-- more in a delirious way........ I had long given up on fairy tale endings. I knew when I went to sleep that I wouldn't wake up in the arms of my savior, simply because there is none. No one is coming to save me-- Nope. No white horses and magical kingdoms for Emily. It just doesn't exist. It doesn't happen, and you can only float through so much life on dreams......  
  
So who is he?  
  
There's movement. Still no talking, but enough sound to reassure me that I haven't lost my hearing next. I actually can tell what people are doing in the room now. I guess I really have been out for a long time. But for example, right now, I can tell that Mr. X is getting up from his stool beside my bed........ but not leaving. Not yet.  
  
I actually start to feel something begin to boil deep in me, and the thought finally dislodges itself and rises and breaks at the surface. Don't leave. It's a panic I haven't had the pleasure of feeling for a long time....... probably before I fell asleep. It's been a while since I've wanted to tell someone to stay. Frankly, I've simply felt better by myself....... but he...... Being with him is like being myself-- but better.  
  
Don't leave.  
  
And like he heard me-- He sits.  
  
I feel strange. It's like my whole body is tingling, coming out of novocaine. I'm starting to be able to feel things...... emotionally. It's too weird. It's like trying to warm a frozen limb suddenly-- something that's been so numb for so long. It kinda feels, well, wrong.  
  
And what's more strange-- I'm starting to feel what he is.  
  
Dogs can smell fear can't they? Right now, it's like I can smell his...... He feels the need to leave-- but he doesn't want to leave me. He wants to stay forever, but leave right now. I could laugh with the irony. I wonder if he knows that's how I feel everyday.......  
  
Again he stands up to leave, but still, and much to my chagrin, he still makes no sound. I'm beginning to lose the idea that I will ever get a clue who this mystery man is, when I feel something.  
  
I actually and literally FEEL something.  
  
If it weren't for the machines regulating my every function, I'd be sure my heart has stopped beating in my chest.  
  
So delicate-- a light butterfly kiss on the back of my right hand. 


	5. Surrender

Chapter 4  
It's not until I stop my self-pity party that I realize I've completely lost track of who's come to visit me and who hasn't. If they've sent Grandmother in, it has to have been days now....... Wow.  
  
Long nap.  
  
I wonder if Dad's come. Honestly, I can't even wager a guess what he would do, or will do, when he finds out. Our relationship is just so bizarre right now. He's completely detached himself from the family, but still, the two of us have managed to keep some tenuous bond between us.  
  
I seem to have the ability to relate to alienated family members.  
  
He shouldn't come. He should be focusing on getting better........ I myself know about that all too well.  
  
Okay, I can relate to the junkies too.   
  
Yet part of me wants him to drop everything and come rushing. That's good ole' selfish me though. Always desperate for the spotlight. And they wondered where my sudden devotion to modeling came from......  
  
"Emily...."  
  
Oh god. I'm pretty sure if I could feel anything right now, it would be nausea.  
  
"It's Nikolas...... I don't know if you can hear me--"  
  
Loud and clear.  
  
"Um, well.... I-- I really wish you'd wake up--"  
  
Very original Nikolas, very original.  
  
"You know, you helped me so much when I was shot-- I'll help you too when you get better..."  
  
For some reason, I suddenly find this very funny. I'm not quite sure why...... I mean, if anything, the realization has struck me that in all truth this should be anything *but* funny. Maybe it's that heightened senses thing-- you know, when they say blind people have increased senses of smell and touch and taste-- that sort of thing. Maybe, I'm seeing more with my eyes shut.  
  
My *closest* friend is having a hard time talking to me. This is it. This is our relationship in it's simplest form-- no small talk, no distractions-- and there's nothing there. Well, I shouldn't say nothing. I won't deny the concern in his voice, or the tender tone... I do love him for all he tries to do... But this, it's not enough...... It's just so much weaker then I ever thought......  
  
"I'll come back tomorrow okay?"  
  
Obligatory.  
  
He'll always be my "big brother", doing his duties to protect me...... Just another of many. I feel like a precious ming vase. I'm guarded, handled with kid-gloves-- standing on my own is a gamble the people around me aren't willing to take, and god-forbid someone should take a risk with me...... I guess I'm destined to a life of sitting around, gathering dust.  
  
Damn.  
  
That's about all I can say anymore-- I've given up caring..... Trying to change that fact has drained me of all my energy. I can't do it anymore-- I gave up. Maybe that's why I'm here like I am now. I suppose that would make sense. I think that's what happened last time..... well, except that "coma" was with the aid of drugs, of course.  
  
I guess I can take solace in the fact that I didn't give in physically this time...... just mentally.  
  
But then again, it might be easier if I did give in physically....   
  
And completely. 


	6. Alive

Chapter 6  
  
Logically, I know by now there must be a large discrepancy in the time since my mystery man has left and right now-- but for some reason the skin on the back of my hand refuses to acknowledge it. It's still tingling from the sensation of that oh-so-tender touch.....  
  
It's hard to believe it happened, and hard to not to.  
  
I've heard on the news about these people, these "do-gooders" as they called them, who'd go around and try to make someone's day..... You know, like buy a bouquet of flowers and give them to a complete stranger.... That sort of thing. Maybe that's who "the butterfly kisser" is.......  
  
Or maybe he's just my guardian angel.  
  
It's funny. I didn't think I had one anymore. I was pretty sure Mama saw what I have done with her wishes for me and floated farther away-- at least that's what it feels like....  
  
So maybe she sent me a replacement...... It just felt too powerful to be some "do-gooder"...... There was a connection there. I swear it.  
  
God, I sound ridiculous.  
  
I wish I could leave this stupid train of thought alone.... I'm going on and on about angels and "higher connections"... I sound like a freakin' televangelist..... Just leave it alone Emily. It's over.  
  
I only last a few minutes from what my internal clock is telling me, before I start making a mental list again. And I can only come to one conclusion.... I can't possibly know him. If I knew him, I wouldn't have felt so alone when I was awake-- because right now, just knowing he's out there somewhere, existing......I already feel better.  
  
Now I'm starting to scare myself.  
  
A stranger comes in, sits in silence by my bedside for a while and kisses the back of my hand before he leaves and I'm what? I'm falling for him........ God, for all I know he may never come back.  
  
I feel something again-- nervous, nauseous knots forming in my stomach...... These feel only slightly different from the ones I'm used to getting-- the kind I used to get when I'd wake up in the morning and have to get out of bed, dreading another day of living like I'm dead.  
  
Except now I don't feel so dead....  
  
In fact, the skin on the back of my hand feels remarkably lively.  
  
It must be morning, because someone's talking to me now..... I don't even bother to distinguish whose voice it is.... It's all the same recycled crap anyway. 'Emily, please wake up, we miss you--' Gets a little repetitious after a while..... but hell, they get an "A" for effort anyhow...  
  
I'm kinda starting to get used to this..... This feeling of no time-- just long and short. It's quite invigorating here-- no worries, no cares, nothing....... This will do, this'll do for another day, or week, or life........  
  
The door opens, and I'm greeted by silence. The stool beside my bed is pulled out, but still the room is muted. I actually feel myself growing excited by this..... No, don't let yourself go there Emily. Wishful thinking only leads to disappointment.  
  
I can't help it. I *need* it to be him.....  
  
For the second time now, I think he's managed to stop my heart in my chest-- and give me a connection to the outside--  
  
I can feel his hand.... his fingers lightly interlaced with mine.  
  
This is definitely, without a doubt, the strangest thing I've felt in my life...... My whole body lays numb, except my hand-- the tingling, novocaine feeling is gone-- And now I can feel completely, if not super-sensitively, the warmth, and every crease and texture of his skin.  
  
Again he sits next to me, speaking without words. He feels familiar-- like I've known him my whole life-- if not before I was born..... It's so weird. I feel comfortable with him-- I feel comfortable laying in front of him like a brain-dead slab of meat, I feel comfortable with our silence, with letting him see how weak I am, and vulnerable.  
  
He feels it too-- I can sense it in his touch.  
  
Except one thing..... Vulnerability. Our connection has left him exposed-- and it's the nakedness of it that chokes his words. God, I wish I could tell him that he's not alone. I've been there....  
  
I wish I could soothe the exposed nerves like he has for me.  
  
His hand slips out of mine, and it jolts me out of my thoughts like ice water. I have the sudden impulse to cry, but no tears come...... My face remains slack-- an empty window between us. I don't want him to leave..... I don't want to wonder if he's coming back..... I want to..... I don't even have the will to finish the thought. I just know that this stranger has completely turned me upside down-- and I don't want him to stop.  
  
My hand feels completely cold, and for a second I panic. Did he go already? Is he still here? Why do I suddenly feel so totally lost?  
  
Warmth.  
  
On my forehead.  
  
The "butterfly-kisser" has struck again.  
  
I let myself fall backwards into the abyss I had been fighting, the conflicting emotions rolling off me as I fall deeper and deeper into the sleepy sensation. For the first time in a long time I feel something I'd nearly forgotten.  
  
Happiness.  
  
And through my sweet haze, I hear something break through like a whisper.  
  
"I love you Emily." 


	7. Revelation

Chapter 7  
His voice floats through my fog, unable to connect to anything-- it's like my body is filled with cotton balls, and the words bounce and tumble between them. I feel myself grow sleepier, falling further into the warm darkness, and I force myself to focus.  
  
I love you Emily.  
  
Oh. My. God.  
  
The words finally connect and throw themselves at me like a lasso-- pulling me out of the blissful haze. Every syllable, every tone, every change in pitch-- It alerts my memory like a thousand pinpricks. Maybe they've given me medication or something..... Maybe I'm just delusional...  
  
But no..... No..... This is real. Frighteningly real-- and so is he.  
  
I love you Emily-- a whisper from the past.  
  
The door to my room opens and I feel myself mentally jump-- my body tingles like I've been thrown in ice water. He's been caught-- I can feel it coming....  
  
"Lucky?"  
  
I feel the nausea increase ten-fold in my stomach. Hearing his name-- now it's confirmed. I wasn't just hearing things.... I do remember his voice. And now it all seems so obvious-- the feel of his hand, the sound of his whisper-- the feel of his presence. The only thing that's changed is, well, us-- I can sense it-- it radiates off the both of us like an invisible gas. Reunited veterans-- we've each been through our own war-- come out hurt, scarred-- but somehow found our way home......  
  
"You coming?"  
  
I want to throw up. I want to wake up, vomit, and pass out again.....   
  
Elizabeth.  
  
I could really laugh at this whole thing. Hysterical, demented laughs-- insane, delirious laughter-- for a really long time..... Finally I find someone who makes me feel-- actually okay-- and it turns out this way.  
  
When God opens a door, he locks the screen door and sits back and laughs.  
  
Everything in me wants to wake up and meet the man that has stolen my heart, and reminisce with the boy that was my best friend, the soul that has healed and hurt mine.... The heart that belongs to my new best friend.....  
  
God. Why do I have to be evil to be happy?  
  
I can achieve my wildest dreams-- finally get my prince-- if I hurt my best friend. If I hurt my best friend-- I hurt myself and I hurt her.... If I sit back, let them be-- pretend this didn't happen, that I don't feel what I do-- everything I've gained in this sleep-- will work to destroy me.  
  
Alluring options huh?  
  
I could tell myself that he isn't feeling this too. The words come out easy enough-- guess that's from the years of practice of self-pity. God, I really did a number on myself with that whole Nikolas thing-- I mean really, if I can convince myself that I'm in love with someone, it should be able to work the other way right?  
  
Bullshit.  
  
"I'm coming..."  
  
His voice rumbles in my ear like thunder on a rainy morning. It's so warming.... So soothing, but so painful.... I never should have let him tell me. I never should have felt what I felt when his hand touched mine... I never should have sensed what he was feeling-- I should have just shut him out like everyone else-- Saved myself.  
  
'Love can hurt'.... what a cliche phrase..... What about when you love, but didn't get the chance to be in love? Where's the cute phrase for that? Probably wherever the justice is hiding.....  
  
Suddenly I feel a warmth in the pit of my stomach, and the flames crawl up my insides, eating my submissiveness as they go. Why has he done this to me?! Why is this so damn unfair?! How can he come in here when he's with Elizabeth? How can he do this to her? To me? How can trick me into opening my heart for a stranger, only to present himself?!  
  
I feel like I'm on stand in court, screaming for anyone who'll listen, 'It's not my fault! He tricked me! He tricked me and made me fall for him!' But I can't scream loud enough for my own ears.....  
  
I feel the tingling, the cold trembling of my body, and the small cold trickle of a salty tear down the side of my cheek. 


	8. Awakened

Chapter 8  
  
It's too damn bright.  
  
I've watched enough television shows in my day to see how this should play-- the patient wakes up from a coma miraculously after some heart-felt speech, and there's some tearful reunion between him or her and their loved ones... and of course, they have some *totally* new aspect on life similar to George Bailey in "It's a Wonderful Life".  
  
I guess I did learn one definitive answer during this whole ordeal-- TV lies.  
  
Once I finally manage to see past the burning of my retinas I am gifted with a blurry image of television set.  
  
Ironic huh?  
  
I briefly study room through the small slits of my eyes-- everything covered in a wavy layer of tears and sleep. I drop my eyelids shut again willing myself to fall back under. But my body refuses.  
  
I'm sleeping beauty-- my prince came, kissed me and awakened me-- then jumped back on his white horse and bolted like hell.  
  
I must be stupid. On some subconscious level, I must be dumb as a rock. If I did go to "sleep" to escape and protect myself like the doctor said-- why would I wake up when things got worse? Why would I wake up, when more then ever, I would love to slip into a place where no one and nothing can reach me?  
  
I can't have been imagining it-- you can't dream that strong.....  
  
I can feel the tight skin on the side of my cheek where my tear fell.  
  
For a brief second I entertain the thought of running. No one knows I'm conscious-- I could get my things and be on a bus to nowhere before anyone knew I was gone.  
  
Of course I could do that any day at home and probably make it further before my absence would be acknowledged...  
  
Besides-- I can't out run what's in my head.  
  
If I close my eyes really hard, I can imagine myself cracking my head open and extracting the memories like after-dinner mints out of a candy dish. Letting the tainted love ooze out with my blood....  
  
Oh, oh-- tainted love-- don't touch me please.......  
  
It takes me a minute to realize my thoughts have actually become vocal-- and I'm literally singing the refrain to "Tainted Love". I stop, slightly dazed at the sound of my own voice, until I hear it again -- I'm laughing like I should be holding a bloody axe or something.  
  
Okay-- I've lost my freakin' mind.  
  
Upon acknowledging that fact, I hear myself promptly break into sobs. I feel even more detached from my body then I did when I was unconscious. I can't seem to stop crying-- and the fact that I can't makes me cry harder. I feel lost and confused and weak-- pathetically weak. I can hear the annoying little didactic sounding voice in my head... 'Suck it up. Stop being so damn melodramatic.' It says.  
  
I hate that voice.  
  
You know, if I was a schizophrenic-- which on some occasions I believe I am-- I'd probably be telling my other voices to shove it right about now. I want so badly to be able to think I have a right to this.... that in some way I've earned the right to lose my marbles--  
  
Or at least misplace them for a while.  
  
I know I need to consider this. Really lay here and think about it. If they know I'm awake, they'll take me home.  
  
Home.....  
  
Once again my voice makes its appearance, and I groan-- a sound probably similar to that of a partially dead elk in a bear trap. It definitely doesn't sound human. This piques my interest, and I try it again.  
  
Home....  
  
I start to groan again and this time it comes out at a slightly higher pitch, wobbling and shaking until it turns into laughter.  
  
Home.... or padded room-- it's kinda like a S.A.T. question.... Home is to padded room as shopping is to bank.  
  
I'm still laughing when something happens.  
  
The door opens.  
  
"Emily?!" 


	9. Discovered

Chapter 9  
  
I am an idiot.  
  
This is the one thing running through my head as I stare wide-eyed at my intruder. I'm a complete moron.  
  
Great way to play it cool Em.  
  
Somewhere between my self-amused laughter and the door opening, my body has managed to catapult itself into a sitting position, my eyes pulled beyond the point of open-- so my eyeballs feel like they could actually fall out.  
  
Oh yeah, that's me..... cool, calm, and collected.  
  
"Do you need a doctor?"  
  
Now that, I think, is what a composed exterior is. For a minute I struggle to make my words come out. For some reason it's easier to talk subconsciously.  
  
"Jason."  
  
I finally manage to croak out his name and fall back to the bed defeated. He waits patiently by the door, his perfectly stoic face studying mine so closely it hurts.  
  
"No."  
  
Satisfied, he turns and closes the door.  
  
The dialog in my head runs like a censor's dream. I've been found out. It's over. My dream is done. Back to reality.  
  
For the second time in a day-- well, maybe not a day, maybe a while, I don't really know-- I feel like vomiting.  
  
Instead, I cry.  
  
"Emily?"  
  
He sits down beside me. There's something all together comforting and frustrating about the way he says my name. Granted-- he's not trying to pacify me-- not saying the usual stupid things people do-- but he's also not trying at all.  
  
I guess I can kinda see Ned's brick wall analogy.  
  
At least he's a nice brick wall.....  
  
For a second I feel my body lurch forward, but I consciously stop myself. No... No. Something has to change. And how many times have I flung myself into Jason's arms, sobbing? My god, the man is beginning to look like a walking Kleenex.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
His patience frustrates me, and I fight the urge to scream at him. No I'm not 'okay'... When have I ever been 'okay'?  
  
The thought makes me laugh to myself, and when I look up at Jason, I note his expectant stare.  
  
Well, maybe not expectant-- he's never expectant.  
  
"They think I'm crazy, right?"  
  
My own question takes me by surprise, but I match his indifferent demeanor. Two can play this game.  
  
A minute of stony silence passes before he answers.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Leave it to Jason to break the news gently.  
  
I'm vaguely aware of my own laughter as he leans forward in his chair.  
  
"They said you were sick with some sort of psychological disorder..... That you might have something called a Somatoform Disorder-- which means that your body isn't sick, but your mind is, and it made you shut down."  
  
I stare blankly at him. Now I know why it's so easy for him to talk to Michael like an adult-- because he talks to adults like children. I don't want the explanation-- I didn't ask for it-- I don't want to know why I'm sick--   
  
I'd much rather prefer to be oblivious.  
  
And god, it was so much easier to be oblivious while I was asleep.  
  
I shut my eyes for a minute, opening them to find a new layer of tears obstructing my view. I quickly swipe them away, a whole new determination forming in my gut.  
  
"Jason-- I need you to do something for me...." 


	10. Request

Chapter 10  
  
His eyebrows quirk up ever-so-slightly in question.  
  
For a second I question what I'm about to do-- but it's only a second. Not enough to change my mind.  
  
"You can't tell anyone I'm awake."  
  
He stares at me and I stare at him. Our faces blank and open-- it's a battle of wills-- who's going to break first..... Internally, I smile. There's something exhilarating about this. Maybe my sleep did bring something to the surface in me. Maybe I've earned the ability to scream and weep on the inside, and look like I'm watching a PBS program on the outside.  
  
He's waiting for me to elaborate on my request-- but I don't. I've officially made a resolution: I'm not begging anymore.  
  
"Emil--"  
  
He starts but I cut him off. I'm going to hold the control this time.  
  
"No, Jason-- No. I'm not ready yet."  
  
We stare again. The thought strikes me that this must look *really* funny to the outside person. But behind his carved face I can see his mind working-- considering-- the wheels are turning steadily-- but suddenly stop, hitting a rock in the road.  
  
"I need you Emily-- I need you to watch out for Michael while he's at the Quartermaines... Remind him that I love him and take care of him for me."  
  
There's a blank in my consciousness, and inside me I feel something stretch and snap like a rubber band. For a second I can't see outside anymore-- I'm back inside myself again-- recoiling against the quivering innards of my body. It's a strange feeling and I can't help but dislocate myself from my current thoughts to muse on it for a quick minute. It's like someone's stuffed my stomach with ice cubes and poured boiling water on top. 'Now that's a wild sensation' the little laid-back voice in my head says....  
  
I flip back to the current comment on the table. Michael. So frequently the bargaining chip in the war.  
  
If only I could keep track of which war these days....  
  
I guess it's more like one war we all fight. Only I'm battling on a different field from them all-- a different reality. And at the mansion there's a battle for power-- and one for control-- and one for equality.....  
  
And in the ring today: Emily vs. Jason..... Ding. Let's get ready to rumble.  
  
I crawl to the outside again only to be greeted by Jason's version of a concerned face. The sight amuses me in an annoyed way. For someone who has so much trouble expressing emotion-- or even *having* them-- he sure claims to love Michael a lot.  
  
And god, if I've learned anything during my sleep it's that love is the strongest emotion you can have.  
  
And it's a bitch.  
  
I can feel my face muscles contract in something that can only be described as inexplicable anger. I can't control them. I can't play my 'cool' face. My body reacts out of it's own accord.  
  
And so does my voice.  
  
"No."  
  
Jason's brow furrows in confusion, and I feel a wave of pleasure crash over me. I've never confused him before. I've never really confused anyone before. I mean sure, I've been "deluded" and "foolish".... I've always been poor little crystalline Emily-- if you can't see through part of her, chip it off and she'll still look just as pretty.  
  
And he thinks he can magically convince me to go back to a place where everyone carries a pickaxe? Yeah, right.  
  
I'm too tired. Tired of protecting and understanding and fighting and surviving. I'm tired of taking sides and hurting and helping. I just want to fall away. Go back to that place where I don't have to deal with any of them. Don't have to deal with Lucky and the reality that awaits me.  
  
More time passes and finally I see the resolve die behind his eyes. He sighs in disappointment and I feel the bitterness rise in me again. 'You give up on life Em, and that's your decision-- but damn, that means I lost another soldier behind enemy lines.'  
  
"I'm not going to lie Emily."  
  
"You lied for Carly."  
  
The air freezes around us, and his eyes bore dangerously into mine.  
  
"Michael *is* my son."  
  
"Have you ever heard of the word 'rationalization' Jason?"  
  
My heart stops in my chest. Did I just say that out loud? My new-found balls are going to get me in a lot of trouble apparently. Jason continues to burn holes through me with his stare. It's like he's permeating an awed coldness, but the feeling only exhilarates me more. Here's something to tell the grandkids-- mark the date-- the day grandma threatened a known mob enforcer.....  
  
"Jason-- I'm about two peanuts short of a cracker-jack box-- You want to test me, fine. But you might not like what you find."  
  
Oh, that feels good. Jason is looking at me like I've spouted pink mushrooms out my head. I can't stop the words from coming.  
  
"We have a lot more in common-- just remember that. You want to do to me, what the Quartermaines did to you when you woke up-- okay. You do that. Be a hypocrite. Hell, in some aspects you already are-- But know this-- Emily Quartermaine doesn't live here anymore. She died a long time ago. And if you want to find out what this girl can do-- proceed at your own risk."  
  
He stares at me a long moment. The air changes around him and for the first time in either of our lives he feels it and I feel it-- he's intimidated. The mask has been whittled down and cracked and now he looks at me with unabashed fear.  
  
"Okay-- okay, we'll do this your way." 


	11. Reappearance

Chapter 11  
  
The awe has not worn off yet.  
  
It's been a while since Jason gave his silent nod and got up and left, and I'm still stunned. I am definitely not me. Or am I? Who was that talking to Jason? Me?   
  
I know all the after-school specials say it's normal for teenagers to have to find themselves, but this is ridiculous...  
  
Maybe I am schizophrenic....  
  
I shake the idea off with another passive-amused laugh. Part of me knows I'm in some deep crap-- but the other part of me doesn't give a rat's ass.  
  
Look at that-- I've diagnosed myself: Jekyl and Hyde complex.  
  
In some ways I do feel bad......I take it back-- in a *lot* of ways. I don't want to be mean. I don't want to feel this selfish-- but it's like a boil-- unless I lance it, the poison's going to go deeper to invade me. Of course that means freaking everyone else out in the meantime...  
  
So do I pop it.... or not?  
  
This is why I can't 'wake up'..... There's just too much to deal with... too much to think about--  
  
I hear the door open, and I tense.  
  
Time to explore yet another facet of myself: Emily the actress.  
  
It takes some concentration, but I manage to work myself into a depressed state in a short amount of time. This feeling does not feel foreign to me-- this feeling that breathing is just too much work-- something that makes me do the inevitable, something I might not really want-- to live.  
  
I can hear my thoughts like a voice in my head-- and I don't like what it's saying. It makes my throat burn with bile and I quickly chastise myself for losing focus so quickly.  
  
I guess I should stick to one-dimensional Hollywood.  
  
It's only now that I realize my visitor has yet to speak, and I feel my body go cold.  
  
It's him.  
  
The nervous burning in my stomach changes to anger, and I come *way* too close to opening my eyes and screaming at him. His once cherished visits have turned into torturous endurances for me. His "love" is a weapon I've turned on myself-- a blunt object I seem to be repeatedly bashing myself in the head with....  
  
Hell, maybe that's good-- maybe I can just knock all the romantic brain cells out of me.  
  
Maybe I can just knock myself senseless-- I always thought that'd be kinda fun.  
  
Lucky takes my hand, and I will the goosebumps to not appear on my arms. The backs of my eyes burn now-- unshed tears I refuse to set free. I've never been this frustrated in my life. I don't want to feel breathless at his touch-- I want to be just plain pissed. He's blown in here like some freakin' knight in shining armor, made me fall in love with him, and then revealed himself like the pig he is--  
  
The pig I *reaaally* want.  
  
It's like I've been awarded a million dollars-- yep. One million dollars-- all mine-- in cash-- on a hook-- 50 feet above me. Just dangling there. It sure does look nice from down here-- TOO BAD I CAN'T REACH IT DAMMIT!  
  
I stop the corners of my mouth from turning up in a smile. I guess I am driving myself insane.... At least I think that's what the psychiatrist would say when the little voice in your head starts sounding like something out of "The Exorcist"....  
  
"Em...."  
  
The mere thought of a smile slides from my mind at the sound of his broken voice rasping my name. His voice shouldn't sound the same-- it shouldn't after everything he's put me through-- what he's turned me into-- and it doesn't--  
  
It sounds sweeter.  
  
"Oh god..."  
  
His voice cracks, breaking away with desperation, and I feel my hand being lifted. A moment of sheer confusion takes me over until I'm hit with a whole new wave of shock and my heart stops in my chest.  
  
Slowly, tentatively, he nestles my hand into his cheek.  
  
Out of my control, my face scrunches up until I fight to set it straight again. The burning at the back of my eyes is back again with a vengeance, flooding over, creating an ocean just under my eyelids.  
  
For a second, I can see over the cliff-- a view I've been fighting ever since his first appearance. Do I let myself fall? Will I be pushed? Or can I jump? It's a long way down-- Can I let myself trust that he's feeling it too? That he's just as lost as I? I was so sure he was in the beginning.... but letting myself go over that would mean trusting myself--  
  
Not really an alluring option from the girl who's inner thoughts chuckle like a demonic clown....  
  
Or I can stay back. Stay on the solid ground. Tell myself that I've misinterpreted this all-- it never really existed. The garden, and the lake, and the valleys, and the life below were all an illusion. Sit myself in the rocky dirt on top of the cliff and wait to die.  
  
To jump or not to jump: that is the question. 


	12. Wings

Chapter 12  
  
He lowers my hand quickly, I can already sense his fear-- fear that any minute Elizabeth will come in and catch him with me. Granted, it isn't *that* incriminating of a situation-- but actual physical status is not the not the problem here.  
  
We've opened up something between us that's way too deep to see with the naked eye. But it feels like we're wearing it on our skin.  
  
I had to read The Scarlett Letter for English class once. Hated the damn thing. I remember the girls giggling behind me-- talking about the "affair" like they were ten years old again-- trying a dirty word at the tips of their tongues..... I simply rolled my eyes and scoffed at their immaturity then. To me it was just a stupid book. Another reading assignment of many-- probably intended to instill some sort of moral or lesson in us....  
  
Words come true-- pages, and pages, binding and lettertype-- it's like every syllable has resurfaced somewhere deep inside me-- Scarlett red visions burning into me from the inside out.  
  
And suddenly-- I can't breathe.  
  
"I love you--"  
  
A cry is torn violently from my throat, and my eyes fly open. The sound is pathetic and weak, yet somehow strong and I immediately shake in response.  
  
It takes all my strength to turn my gaze to him, and when I do, his eyes are wide with panic.   
  
I'm still not breathing.  
  
The air sucks in and out of my throat with no purpose. I find my body rising by it's own accord-- my gasps changing to coughs like I've surfaced from a swim in the river with cement boots.  
  
"My god Emily!"  
  
He's standing now-- wanting to touch me, but at the same time not wanting to-- His hands are tense in front of him held up like a screen between the two of us. My sight turns fully to him, and we lock eyes.  
  
And this time I think it's he who's without breath.  
  
I know I could save this picture in my mind-- add it to the rusty mental photo album and save it for a day when I have enough tears to do it justice. Take it to the roof and set it aloft-- and maybe me too.  
  
Maybe someday I'll fly.  
  
But today-- today I'm not flying-- I'm falling. I've slipped and fallen off that proverbial cliff. Do people who jump to their death still flail their arms? Is there still something in them that makes them believe their limbs might just change into wings and they fly away from whatever pain has brought them falling in the first place?  
  
God, give me wings.....  
  
I blink my eyes, and the tears that had been resting on the brink of my lower eyelid fall with a splash onto my lovely state-issue hospital gown.  
  
"Why have you done this to me?"  
  
I barely hear my own words, but I see them register on Lucky's face. His expression changes from horror to hurt, and for a second, I feel like dirt. But the little voice rises up in me-- the painful twisted gut, that I've come to hate so much aches, and I remember the anger. The anger that has spoken without my consent-- and now it's waiting for him to reply.  
  
"What--"  
  
I can see the emotions that are rolling in him making it impossible to form an intelligible answer-- I know the feeling all too well. Like you're so full of feelings there's no room for thought or voice or even air.....  
  
He tries again, shaking his head frustratedly.  
  
"Why--"  
  
"I heard you. I always heard you."  
  
This time I cut him off. There's nothing he could say that would pacify me anyway-- and the breath pushing my words out doesn't allow me any control. My mind runs a mile behind my voice, and when I finally catch up, I freeze in horror. I guess this is what they call releasing the flood gates....  
  
I can feel the fear in the room, hanging heavy and cold like fog on an late autumn day.  
  
"What?"  
  
His voice is flat, dead...... terrified and exhilarated.  
  
"Why did you say it?"  
  
I watch him with as much of a cool demeanor as I can command. If I let myself realize how close I truly am to hysteria I'll lose it..... A second passes, and I see him mirroring me.... but he's losing his battle-- the hopelessness is slowly rolling over him. Then he realizes it--  
  
He's lost.  
  
"I DON'T KNOW OKAY!"  
  
For some reason this explosion infuriates me and I can feel the emotion blaze and burst in my stomach.  
  
"YES YOU DO! YOU HAVE TO! What, did you say it for kicks and giggles?! For a little extra drama?! What?! WHAT?! 'Cause you can't just do this to me! You can't just blow in here and turn me around and around and leave! You can't!"  
  
When I finally stop I'm breathless, and I look up at him, defeated. Lucky turns his head away-- and I can make out the shining paths of tears on his cheeks.  
  
"I can't--"  
  
His voice breaks and he turns fully away from me, walking across the room to focus his gaze out my small window. I hear him take a deep breath, and I feel my body mimicking his own actions. I feel so..... cold.  
  
"Lucky--"  
  
It hurts to say his name.  
  
"Lucky, I'm really scared okay? And really confused... and so.... tired. I just-- I felt something... and I know I shouldn't, and I know I can't-- but I need to know-- I need to know what to do-- I need you to tell me I'm wrong......"  
  
I stop, raw. I feel sick-- ill all over. His head bows slightly, hanging on his shoulders.  
  
Dear god, give me wings. 


	13. Forget

Chapter 13  
  
Our words are still hanging in the stagnate air around us like heavy mist, and I strain to see what had been so evident with my eyes shut. Across the room, I can see his form, visibly trembling, and I know-- I know he feels just as numb and electrified as I do.  
  
It's like we're puzzle pieces-- but instead of turning one to fit into the other, we each keep turning around and around.  
  
I close my eyes. It's unbearable-- this silence, but the mere thought of even moving is utterly terrifying. So here we are-- statues.   
  
Grandmother had some statues commissioned for the garden last year-- they were much prettier and probably less rigid then we are now.  
  
I look back over. His hands are resting on the window sill, no doubt holding him up. His neck is stretched, maintaining the full weight of his head. Something needs to change soon or he's going to lose all blood flow to his brain.  
  
"You gonna jump or what?"  
  
His head turns slightly at my comment. I guess this is one of those moments you just need something stupid to break the tension.  
  
Unfortunately, there isn't anything stupid enough to say to break this....  
  
He turns around slowly, as if he's fighting the realization that he can't just live the rest of his life staring out the window, and as he does, I realize the same thing--  
  
There's something so tempting-- so comforting about sleeping. I can't help but wonder if I let it go again, if I could just scream and cry maybe I could drive myself crazy again-- after all, Jason did say my coma was probably because of prior mental problems-- maybe I could drive myself into darkness again......  
  
But I can't live the rest of my life looking out the window.......  
  
Damn life lessons. It'd be so much easier to be ignorant.  
  
I bow my head slowly. I can feel his eyes on me, and I shiver even though I feel warm all over. In my head I already know what comes next-- what I will inevitably do-- and it pisses me off. I'm slowly but surely reverting back to the person I was the night I went to bed....  
  
I thought-- I hoped-- maybe she was going to sleep for an eternity.  
  
And sure enough, the words start rolling out of me, the air piercing in my lungs like the crackling of a fire.  
  
"Okay...... We just forget this ever happened-- I didn't hear anything, and you didn't say anything, and nothing--"  
  
I break off, the story nearly impossible to survive. I can't look at him. I can't. So I turn away-- looking to the other side of my bed. The metallic gleam of my IV stand catches my eye, and I can see Lucky's elongated form reflected along the pole. He looks comical-- like a clown you'd see at a child's birthday party, folding balloons into stupid shapes and squirting seltzer down his pants.  
  
Well, that's the way he looks if you don't really look at him.  
  
If you really look, he in no way, shape or form resembles a party-goin' entertainer. He looks more like a little boy whose puppy got run over.  
  
A really *tall* little boy.  
  
I stop, momentarily retracing my train of thought. It feels like I can't keep up with myself, and when I eventually hear what I'm really thinking I laugh in astonishment. Maybe I'm trying to prove to myself I really am mentally ill..... Maybe I am just mental.  
  
"I think you need to leave now--"  
  
I hold my breath to keep the scream that's following the words from escaping. God just give me a few more minutes-- a few more minutes to keep in, and then he'll be gone, and I can go crazy. I can literally lose my mind for the rest of my life....   
  
I don't want a mind if it'll remind me of this.  
  
He watches me closely, considering-- fighting and struggling. I swear I can hear the pummeling of his heart from here. His jaw sets tight, and he turns abruptly, heading to the door.  
  
Just hold it in, just hold it in....  
  
His hand touches the door knob and I feel another tear slide down my cheek. Every step closer to gone is pure agony for me. The pressure is still building in my chest-- the anxiety of waiting for him to leave mixing with the dread of missing him...  
  
I close my eyes tightly, waiting for the click of the door, but it doesn't come-- and when I look up again, he's still standing frozen.  
  
"What if...... What if-- I don't want to forget?"  
  
And when I finally hear him-- he's gone. 


	14. Explosion

Chapter 14  
  
2:17.  
  
Mark it: at 2:17 on April 19 my world exploded.  
  
The bright, brilliant colors colliding in my eyes and black fuzz slowly taking over my vision. For a long time I lay there-- blind-- the unrecognizable sounds of despair pushing past my lips.  
  
In my mind, I could see the scene replayed a thousand times-- and every time I'd envision myself as someone else-- someone who could handle this-- every time, I'd reply with some new dramatic, soap opera-like line-- play the scene out like it should be-- the way I've seen it on TV or read it in books.....  
  
But never once in the act, has the female lead responded to the male romantic's revelation with such....  
  
.... stupidity.  
  
I swallow against the lump in my throat, but it remains strong and painful, and the lack of surprise comes with a realization that it's not going away. Maybe it'll never go away-- maybe I'll spend the rest of my life unable to swallow--  
  
I can see it now-- myself at eighty: Still here in this bed, my mouth open and drool coming out the sides-- explaining to the nonexistent grandkids how I told the love of my life not to go by dropping my jaw and almost vomiting on my hospital gown.  
  
Maybe I should ask Felicia to write my memoirs next-- there's a romance story for the ages.  
  
I can't breathe past this knot in my throat-- I need to get out of this bed.  
  
I sit and turn so my feet dangle over the side of the bed. I really can't even remember when the last time I stood was. I know in the back of my mind, that I probably shouldn't be doing this-- I'm sure the hospital staff wouldn't endorse this activity. I'm probably not going to myself-- I'm stiff and dizzy and I have tubes coming out places I don't even want to think about--  
  
But doing the wrong thing just sounds so good right now....  
  
I shift my weight, and let myself slowly descend to the floor. I ache all over, and I know that not all of it is from laying still in a hospital bed for an extended time.  
  
I let myself just stand-- no intention of moving except the swaying that's out of my control. Back and forth, back and forth...... I can see myself like a tree outside-- the wind blowing me like the strength I have in my trunk is all an illusion-- Like I'm as pliable and weak as the weeds around me. The feeling makes me want to crumble to the ground and never get up.  
  
My knees begin to give out, and I back myself against the bed. I feel so pathetic. So very pathetic. I was so close to being new. Awakened from my sleep like Pinocchio-- bright and shiny-- no longer a puppet, but maybe a real person.  
  
Half an hour with Lucky and I'm already as toy-like as you get.  
  
I slide back up on the bed. I can't do this now. Not that there's anything I feel like I can do. I feel like the emotions are flashing past me-- not allowing me enough time to figure out what I'm even feeling before I am something entirely different.  
  
Apathy. Why me?  
  
Doubtful. Maybe I was reading too much into things.....  
  
Anger. That son of a bitch.  
  
Indifferent. Who even cares anymore? Screw it. Screw it all. Screw him, screw happiness, screw the world--  
  
Wait-- I guess I'm back to anger again.  
  
I lie back down on my oh-so-comfortable hospital bed and rearrange myself. Not ready. Not ready-- that's all I can think with any degree of clarity. Prematurely born again--I'm too underdeveloped to be in the 'real' world-- to have possession of a body. I'm just safer as a detached voice-- a non-present spirit-- a name, a memory, nothing physical, nothing tangible--  
  
a ghost.  
  
I imagine my family back at home-- mentioning me in passing-- 'Have you gone to see Emily lately? Too bad Em's missing this-- Do you think Emily wanted this skirt washed?' Just a name mentioned among the trivial comings and goings of daily life-- another word in a vocabulary I have no desire for anymore. God, I don't even think I truly believe that! I can hear a nagging voice reverberating in the temporal portion of my brain-- *How do you even know they mention you?* Maybe they've forgotten-- oh, excuse me-- let's use the correct euphemism here-- *moved on*. Maybe the occurrence of the utterance of my name is as common as a solar eclipse there..... Can't tell me it doesn't happen. I know it does-- I've done it....  
  
Or not done it as the case may be.  
  
Oh god. I've turned into my mother. My real mother. My dead mother.  
  
I feel sick to my stomach, and I try to control my breathing to calm myself. I've learned how to effectively control my body when it starts to run away from me now. And normally I'm pretty good at it, but for some reason I can't get the feeling out of the pit of my stomach.  
  
And my mind is in innocent places now.  
  
I squeeze my eyes as a wave of nausea knocks over me. My head begins to spin. I feel cold. Really cold. And hot. Burning--  
  
My flesh feels like it's burning and freezing at the same time.  
  
For the first time since-- I feel a real panic--  
  
I'm dying. 


	15. Dying

For those of you that need the reminder: this is set way back in time.. Way back.  
  
Chapter 15  
  
It's uncontrollable-- this overwhelming desire to cry, and scream, and--  
  
I don't know-- die?  
  
It sounds so trivial when I think of it like that, but in some way, that's the only thing it feels like-- like the will to live was simply a fleeting thought I had a million centuries ago in another life, in another time, another portal of space---  
  
The swirling ill feeling is still with me though slightly subdued now. Subdued. Now that's the word for it-- dead but still alive-- and slightly curious. Why *do* I suddenly feel like--  
  
Whatever it is I can't find the word for.  
  
I probably feel completely irrational because I am irrational. God, wouldn't my psychology teacher be proud of me..... There's some psychoanalysis Freud would be spinning in his grave over.  
  
I hear the door open unceremoniously which clues me in immediately that it's not Lucky. Lucky, I've found, has this amazing way of creeping in, but still making his presence known. Whoever it is-- it's not Lucky.  
  
But it jolts me anyway.  
  
It's really incredible how if, you lay still enough for a long time and let the silence turn into your own personal tension, anything can shock you. And not just emotional shock-- physical-- like someone's run a volt of electricity through you.  
  
The mind-body connection is a hell of a thing isn't it? Or maybe it's just hell.  
  
"Hey Em."  
  
Oh. Dear. Lord.  
  
Mentally, I turn heavenward. I can practically hear the great deity himself-- laughing his ass off. That is if God has an ass.... hmm.... Maybe someday when I break out of the sanitarium I'll become a philosopher.  
  
This is the last thing I need--  
  
"Listen Em-- I know you've been peeved at me lately--"  
  
'peeved'? *peeved*? Well gee golly Mr. Quartermaine, I didn't mean to be*peeved* at you--  
  
"But look, I know we don't agree on a lot of the things going on at home right now, but I need you there. You know Michael, and he trusts you-- and as much as I know you like to prove your point you still help a lot. He needs you."  
  
My head feels thick and painful and I fight the urge to crush it between my hands. I'm so TIRED of this! I want to scream-- really loud. Louder than I ever could. Louder then physically possible.  
  
Loud enough to make AJ's ears bleed.  
  
Michael, Michael, Michael.... It's like a mantra in my head. I have to go back to him. I have to save him.  
  
How am I supposed to save him if I can't save myself?  
  
Why can't I just be completely self-absorbed? God, some people say I already am... Might as well live up to it..... I'm tired of thinking of Michael-- and I'm tired of feeling bad for being tired of it. I'm losing my mind, and all anyone can say is 'get well for Michael'. I am done.  
  
I wish the finality in that statement was real.  
  
"Em-- when you wake up, you'll realize that this is the right thing. You'll see like I did and now like everyone does-- that Jason is too dangerous for any child to be around."  
  
Everyone?  
  
One word-- very little meaning out of context-- or in context for that matter-- yet, somewhere deep inside I start to feel the beginnings of panic stirring at the sound of it.  
  
"I just wish everyone else didn't have to learn it this way...."  
  
The panic rises up seizing my stomach. I kinda feel like I'm back in 6th grade gym class-- realizing the flu is going to beat me to the bathroom. My palms feel sweaty at my sides. I need to move, but I can't.  
  
"I'm so sorry sweetheart..... You're going to have so much to deal with when you wake up.... It's just not fair. Life's not fair."  
  
The tears are burning behind my eyelids now and I don't even truly know what I'm fearing. 'Life's not fair'..... The words are echoing in my head-- sharp and distorted like I've shouted them down a metal hallway. It's not a voice I hear though-- the words have no voice-- they're too deep inside me. My heart is only a hard, tight lump weighing on my chest now. I feel dizzy.  
  
I hear him sigh, his voice turning away from me.  
  
"He was just a kid...."  
  
My body goes cold, and mentally I feel like I've slammed myself into a wall. Empty-- I'm completely empty.....  
  
I can still hear it: 'Life's not fair'..... 'life's not fair'....  
  
I know now-- I know what I felt-- it wasn't my imagination..... I was dying.  
  
And so was he. 


	16. Knowledge

Chapter 16  
  
It's so strange-- this feeling-- It's like I've fallen down the same hole I had just climbed out of. The darkness behind my eyelids has turned even blacker, if it's possible. My eyes feel like two voids.....  
  
Don't they always say, the eyes are the window to the soul?  
  
AJ is still talking-- I'm certain of it-- but nothing is registering. The air being pulled in and out of my lungs isn't even registering.  
  
Dead, dead, dead.....  
  
I can hear it with almost a lyrical tone in my head.  
  
Dead.  
  
The door to the room opens again, and AJ immediately halts his didactic speech on the 'dangers of Jason'. The silence turns to tension, instantly clueing me in to who the new guest is. 'I've gotten waaay to used to this' I think with morbid amusement.  
  
"AJ."  
  
Always the wordsmith. Yet somewhere behind his brusque greeting I can hear trepidation. Well, as trepidated as he gets....  
  
"Jason."  
  
More silence. Cold silence. I wonder if this is what a dead person hears....  
  
"I'd like to speak with Emily alone."'  
  
"You know, I don't feel comfortable leaving my sister alone with you after you just killed a kid."  
  
Ouch.  
  
"I don't think Emily would appreciate you screening her visitors *AJ*."  
  
"And she'd appreciate your part in the death of her best friend?"  
  
Dead, dead, dead..... What more to life is there than death?  
  
"Why don't you just get out of here?"  
  
Fighting.  
  
More silence. I can feel the stare down-- the challenging. Two bulls in mating season. I'm waiting for them to start scraping their feet on the floor. The image starts a laugh deep in my stomach, but before it reaches my throat something falls on it-- something so heavy it crushes it and everything in it's path.  
  
Weight. All I can feel is the weight.  
  
"You can't stop me from seeing my sister AJ-- You want to try-- fine. Contact my lawyer--"  
  
"Maybe I'll do that."  
  
I hear AJ get up and open the door briskly. It closes with a resounding click-- and without warning, I start to shake. I don't understand it, but I can't stop. Jason sits down beside me and a wave of nausea hits me. I know I'm going to throw up-- I know it-- so I open my mouth and brace myself.  
  
What comes out was not what I expected--  
  
Jason jumps in his seat as the unforeseen wail leaves my lips. It's loud, and gutwrenching-- something between an elongated 'no' and moan.... It's every emotion I had left in my body condensed into one noise-- one cry-- hollow and echoing against the emptiness in me. The sound of it in my own ears scares me and breaks me-- and I feel the desire to sink through the bed-- sink as far as I can-- crawl on the floor-- integrate myself into it.  
  
I have yet to open my eyes, but I feel Jason lean forward and gather me in his arms.  
  
"I'm so sorry Em-- I wanted to tell you first--"  
  
Oh Jason-- You couldn't-- no one could--  
  
Lucky told me first. 


	17. Fly

Chapter 17  
  
I open my eyes and stare over Jason's shoulder. At first everything is blurry-- my sight coming from under a thin layer of tears. Soon everything comes into focus, and my eyes are dry--  
  
So are my cheeks.  
  
Despite my outburst, I have yet to shed a tear.  
  
He pulls back, searching out my eyes. It doesn't matter-- he won't find anything there. He settles back on the bed his hands clenching mine. Somewhere in me his compassion and understanding registers, and suddenly I want to vomit.  
  
"Listen Em-- It was--"  
  
"A fire."  
  
We both freeze at my completion of his sentence. Slowly my eyes lift to his, but I still can't see him. He's looking at me with open confusion-- his brow furrowing like a pug-faced puppy.  
  
"How did you--"  
  
"I want this out."  
  
I divert my attention from him down to my arm and start pulling on the IV cord trailing out of my flesh. I can feel the needle moving inside my arm and I secretly revel in the pain. I can finally feel something-- something I deserve to feel.  
  
Jason's hands come quickly to rest over mine, stopping them.  
  
"Em-- Em! You really shouldn't take this out until the doctors say it's okay--"  
  
Oh, this coming from the man who tried to escape from the hospital the day after he was shot.....  
  
"I want it out."  
  
My voice sounds wobbly.  
  
"Em--"  
  
"Either you help me take it out or I take it out myself."  
  
That time I sounded stronger thank god. I'm tired of sounding so pathetic all the time even if I am. I watch Jason struggle with it for a minute, then he sighs, resigned.  
  
"Fine."  
  
His hands guide over my arm, pressing lightly on my tender flesh while he slips the needle out. He works quickly, professionally-- and I don't doubt for a second he has no idea what he's doing. It's simply another one of those vague pieces of information he had loaded into his brain before he existed-- Another thing I envy. The ability without knowing. To live a life without struggle and pain to gain knowledge.  
  
I learned something new today: I learned what it feels like to die inside. I wish I had already known it..... I wish it was like Jason's medicine-- just something buried deep in my mind-- so deep it didn't hurt me. So deep I didn't realize it was there, but nonetheless present..... I wouldn't have to learn it then. I'd already know how it felt. I could just be dead inside.  
  
"Is that better?"  
  
I simply nod and stare at the slight deformity the void of the IV has left in my arm.   
  
"What do you need?"  
  
'I need, I need....' I can hear it in my own voice in my head over and over again and for some reason the only picture that comes to mind are the outstretched grubby arms of a child, fingers flexing and contracting-- groping at thin air.  
  
A small bead of dark red blood has formed on my arm.  
  
What I need-- is not this life.  
  
"I need to be alone."  
  
Jason is staring at me with an open concern that would normally make me uncomfortable.  
  
Fortunately I can't feel anything.  
  
"Em-- Maybe that's not such a--"  
  
"Jason, please--"  
  
My voice has taken on a whiny, desperate quality, and I hope to god he gives soon so I don't have to listen to myself. His mouth clamps into a tight line, and he gives two quick nods. He stands and walks abruptly to the door-- pausing to look back once more for confirmation.  
  
I muster my voice for one final call.  
  
"Jase-- I'm not ready to wake up yet."  
  
He nods again and closes the door behind him.  
  
The room is silent again, and somewhere I can hear ticking. My eyes search the room for the source, but come up empty. There are no clocks in this room, no watches-- no sense of time except the ticking in my head. Hallow, echoing ticking in my head-- powerful ticking that sends jolts through my blood, makes my fingertips pulse and my skin hurt.  
  
"What if I don't want to forget?"  
  
I hear his voice so loud, I'm certain he's next to my ear-- but when I bolt up in bed I'm alone. How long have I been alone? I don't know..... I suppose the answer depends on if I'm asking metaphorically or not......  
  
"I love you."  
  
It's so deep in my head the words literally hurt. I clamp my hands to the sides of my head and start the type of rocking typical of mental ward patients.  
  
Dear god-- I really am losing my mind.  
  
There's no air left in the room-- I'm certain of it, and I feel my body begin to heave with the struggle for oxygen. I let myself slide off the bed, disregarding my inability to stand, and somehow suffer my way to the window. It's raining-- but I can't see outside. I can't even see my own reflection--  
  
I see his.  
  
The night he stood at this window-- the night I told him to forget. The night left indiscernible to both of us-- when he stood at this window, tears on his cheeks-- his inner thoughts as mysterious to me as mine to him.  
  
And again, something surfaces from deep inside my mind-- a song. I used to listen to it as background when I did my homework-- but here it is-- words I didn't know I knew surfacing. I close my eyes a moment and let myself be lulled by the rhythm.  
  
'There's no one to catch me' I think as my hands, by their own accord, reach up and push the window open.   
  
I guess the comatose patients don't get the full 'precautionary' measures the other mental patients get.......  
  
The wind blows in, and I close my eyes, letting it caress my face. It feels fresh and clean against my hospital-worn skin. For a brief moment I entertain the thought of it lifting and carrying me away-- far away.  
  
And that's when I realize I'm getting wet-- the rain is soaking through my hospital gown.  
  
I let myself rock forward onto my toes, my vision sliding off the ledge to the street six stories below. I feel a wave of exhilaration sweep over my numbed body and I rock forward again-- my arms stretched out on either side of me and let myself waiver there a moment. I can almost feel the muscles in my legs, tensing, preparing to leap-- and the feeling of the air rushing under me as I soar above the buildings-- as I feel the soft cool kiss of the clouds-- as I fly away from everything I've ever known....  
  
He's not here to catch me-- and I have nothing left to lose if I fall.  
  
It's time to fly. 


	18. Landing

Chapter 18  
  
The sink is yellow-- No, no-- not yellow, like it's supposed to be yellow-- but yellow like it's way past due for its centennial cleaning......  
  
How in the hell did I get here?  
  
I look down at the soaked hospital gown clinging to my body. My hair is hanging in dripping strands around my face and I watch a droplet of water cascade from the tip of one of the strands down to splash on the grimy tiled floor. A bolt of thunder cracks outside, and it comes to me like a flash of lightening--Running through the torrential downpour-- finding this little gas station and hiding my body behind the tall counter while I asked the less-than-observant clerk for the key to the bathroom.   
  
Dark clouds..... The splash of raindrops in standing water-- the splash of my bare feet...... The flashes of color of people hiding behind their umbrellas....  
  
That must be how I got here without anyone stopping me.... How I got out of the hospital-- I have no idea.  
  
Somewhere in the back of my mind I still carry the feeling of standing on that ledge-- the freedom-- the fearful exhilaration. The fact I knew I was going to jump-- and being proud of it. Being proud of knowing what I was actually going to do for once. I was going to fly.  
  
And I did. I just decided to do it with my feet on the ground.  
  
I don't know why I decided not to take the quicker way down. It's a blur, but my mind refuses to let it go or bring it to the surface. I just know I was close. So close I stopped breathing or thinking or feeling. So close when I put my foot out, it didn't touch ground.  
  
It's a total blank in my consciousness....  
  
I wonder if this is how AJ felt when Carly drugged him.  
  
Ugh. AJ.... Carly....... I just don't want to think about it. If I let my mind go there-- I'll lose it again.  
  
After all, who needs a life if you can have someone else's?  
  
Not that mine is so tempting anymore.....  
  
I close my eyes a few seconds just to escape reality. I'm not used to it. I'm used to pretending to be living-- fake reality. That's what I had.  
  
I guess this would be considered the rude awakening.  
  
I force my eyes open and numbly reach for the plastic bag at my feet. My name is written neatly on the side just under the General Hospital emblem. I must have grabbed my personal effects bag on my way out.  
  
So nice of the hospital to pack for me....  
  
I pull the clothes out of the bag and freeze. I'd completely forgotten there was a beginning to all this. It just seemed like something that had always been-- you know, like the universe, or respiring beings, or Dick Clark.....  
  
But seeing the pajamas clutched in my hand right now, I'm immediately assaulted with memories of that night-- and a sudden realization.  
  
It's so funny how differently things look later--  
  
I remember it now-- how oddly poetic it was-- how eerily calm. It was like every sadness I've mused on since had caught up to me, and wordlessly invaded me. I didn't know it was happening, I didn't feel anything. But I remember walking into my room like habit and stopping with my finger on the light switch. And for some reason, I decided to leave the lights off-- I don't know why.... I guess maybe I thought it was the romantic in me.... So I slipped into my warmest flannel pajamas and opened my window. The snow was just starting to fall, and the air was so still the flakes seemed to loft longer than usual. The world was that chilling color of blue that only happens every so often and it cast my room with it's somber brightness. That color of blue is mesmerizing.... and so exclusive..... I only have seen it one other time in my life--  
  
Lucky's eyes.  
  
I'm still holding the pajamas in my arms-- a fact that surprises me. And as I start to put them on, I realize I've lost all sensation in my body.  
  
So much like that night-- I had numbly slipped in my bed and curled my body in a ball. I don't know how long I laid on my side staring out that window-- long enough that it would probably freak someone out-- god knows there's plenty of thoughts in my head that would freak anyone out. It didn't matter-- I had given up-- been defeated. I knew it was ridiculous to have my window open on a cold winter night-- but I didn't care. It felt like it was the first time in a long time I could actually breathe..... and I fell, hard-- with only the silent sounds of the winter dark to lull me to sleep.  
  
I turn and look at myself in the cracked bathroom mirror. The green and white plaid pajamas hang off my frame. I've lost weight.  
  
My hair is still wet and stringy, and I run my fingers haphazardly through the mess. I'm not used to my face without make-up, but I think I like it. I already feel more real.   
  
I reach back in my bag and pull out my coat. Someone must have used it to cover me when they carried me from the house because I know I didn't go to bed with it on. I slip it on, and button it up. I still look I've just walked out the 7th ring of hell, but at least I resemble something a little more human. I put on the shoes also in my bag, and send a silent thank you to whoever the person was that decided it wasn't strange to wear flannel pants in public. I wad the plastic bag up into a little ball and shove it deep in the garbage can. Nothing like leaving a piece of evidence that says "Emily Quartermaine was here."...  
  
I don't realize how stuffy and disgusting the bathroom truly was until I step outside. The rain is still coming down hard, and I follow the lead of the other patrons on the street and pull my coat up to cover my head. I don't think I do it to stay dry-- I'm already wet-- but I guess without realizing it, I've found a good way to blend in and disguise myself.  
  
I run in and return the key-- my obedient conscience not allowing me the freedom to just leave. The man behind the counter still doesn't look up from his paper, and I leave with a slight sense of hope. Maybe no one will notice me. Maybe I've lost any presence I used to have....  
  
I don't know where I'm going, so I just start walking-- further away from the hospital. When I get to a desolated area I let the coat fall from my head and I let myself bathe in the storm. As I walk farther, I notice my hands beginning to redden with the cold, and I slip them into my pockets.  
  
And that's when I find my salvation.  
  
I stop immediately and draw my wallet out. I can barely unsnap it with the frozen movements of my body. Andrew Jackson's solemn face greets me, and I match him back with an equally solemn expression. Twenty dollars will not be enough.... I don't know what for-- but I just know it's not enough. I struggle to pinch my fingers for a while, but eventually I manage to dislodge a red plastic card from one of the leather slots.  
  
One of the joys of being a rich bitch-- credit cards.  
  
When Lucky and I went on the run when we were younger--he was amazing. He taught me "the rules" to running-- how not to be caught-- how to survive-- how to struggle through anything...... I wonder if he knew I still remember everything. I can almost hear his voice in my head-- "Don't use credit cards-- they're traceable."   
  
Maybe it is his voice-- Maybe it's him helping me run again.  
  
I look heavenward and ask my silent question-- Then I wait for my response.  
  
Then I start running. 


	19. Reinvention

Chapter 19  
  
I don't know why-- but the thought makes me giddy.  
  
Sometime, a slip of paper will arrive at the mansion-- a slip of paper that shows the last living action of Emily Quartermaine and the first of-- me. It'll probably go overlooked for weeks-- but when they open it they'll see--  
  
ATM transaction: 12:04 a.m. April 21, 1999.  
  
They should just write that on my tombstone.  
  
I run my hand again over the warm bulge of money in my pocket. I'd probably feel nervous carrying almost my entire bank account in my coat were I able to feel anything... No scratch that-- I do feel something--  
  
Completely, totally, and utterly insane.  
  
The way I felt in the hospital is nothing compared to this. My mind keeps flashing back to the image of my credit cards, laying at the foot of the machine, partially sunk into the rain-soaked ground.... and for some reason-- this image of a piece of my prior life-- degraded and destroyed-- makes me smile. It makes my heart feel light in my chest. Too light-- it feels like it's not even there anymore.  
  
I look out the bus window at the sun just beginning to rise on the horizon. I used to be a romantic-- really I was-- but I guess it's just another thing I've lost because this picturesque view of the sunrise does nothing for me. It serves more as a map of sorts... It tells me I'm about 6 or so hours out of Port Charles and heading-- let's see, sun rises in the east.... so I must be heading north? I don't know. I never was a girl scout....  
  
I don't think the clerk at the bus station ever even told me where I was going. Not that he knew. I bought two tickets-- I know, great way to waste money-- but I loved the gamble of it. Two tickets-- two escapes-- which is my new life?....   
  
All at the hands of 'eenie--meenie--minee--moe'.  
  
I could just take the ticket out of my pocket and see where I'm going, but that would ruin the fun of it-- the fun of getting lost and never finding your way home.  
  
That is what I'm doing-- getting lost.  
  
Part of me knows I should be scared. I should have that sweaty-palmed, clammy-skinned feeling I had when I lost my mom at the grocery store when I was six-- but I don't. I feel like I've been travelling my whole life. The distant memory of a family and a home were just a dream I had the last time I slept, and my place in the world is nothing more than an aimlessly meandering path-- and I'm walking it like a little kid who's been spinning in circles.  
  
I lean back, letting my body relax in the nothingness of it all. I can't help but wonder if they've discovered the empty hospital bed yet. No-- it can't be more than 6:30 in the morning--   
  
They won't realize I've flown the coop with Emily Quartermaine's body until at least 8.  
  
I can almost picture Lucky in my place. Here, in this uncomfortable bus seat-- he'd have his trusty backpack next to him, strategizing his next move.... This is the way I always pictured him when he used to tell me stories about being on the run.  
  
Life's not fair.  
  
AJ's voice comes to me with sickening reverberation. No it's certainly not. Were life fair, he would be sitting here--  
  
And I would have the good fortune of death-- instead of envying his.  
  
I could leave him behind, instead of him leaving me. I'm sick of people leaving me for the 'Great Beyond'. Now it's my turn.  
  
Granted, the Canadian border isn't exactly the pearly gates.....  
  
I focus harder out the window, but I can't shake where my mind is pulling me.  
  
He's dead--  
  
Dead, dead, dead.  
  
I don't feel so light anymore.  
  
I just have to keep moving. Keep going Em--  
  
Ironically, this is the moment the bus chooses to lurch to a stop, and I sit uncomfortably for a second before my body decides this is my stop. I grab my backpack hastily and scoot my way down the isle. I feel strange being somewhere by myself where I don't know anyone. I guess it's never happened before.  
  
Funny-- for all the times I've felt completely alone this is the first I literally am.  
  
I make my way off the bus, feeling slightly healthier at the introduction of fresh air to my lungs. I can't help but smile at the people struggling to get their luggage out of the under-compartments of the bus. 'See,' I want to tell them, 'See the liberties death brings you?'  
  
Of course I'm not really dead-- I just like to think I am.  
  
I think it's a long time before I actually have another intelligible thought after that. Whatever city or town I happen to have stumbled upon seems to have eluded my attention, leaving only a vague picture of nondescript buildings in my mind. And soon I find myself standing vacant, in front of a run-down motel. The place looks as gross as I feel after a six hour bus ride, and none-too-safe. Grandfather would sh*t a goat if he knew a "Quartermaine" was somewhere so unrefined....  
  
Good thing I'm not a Quartermaine anymore.  
  
I look down, smoothing out my coat and rumpled pajama pants. I don't know why I bother. I actually fit in quite well-- I look like I've sifted my articles of clothing out of a dumpster, like the rest of the population of this part of town.  
  
And for a second, as stupid as it seems-- I feel a flash of comfort. I've landed in the right spot for the moment. This place won't suspect anything of me. It won't care. It looks like the kind of place axe murderers frequent. I could probably walk in there holding a bloody chainsaw and they would just think it was part of the regular Friday night crowd. A runaway is the least of their problems.....  
  
I ease myself to the door and inside. A bell rings above my head and I jump. I don't know why I jump-- I'm not feeling particularly anxious or alert-- but it startles me nonetheless.  
  
I soon discover the man behind the counter is nothing less than nauseating. He's wearing a white undershirt, and sporting some mighty impressive 'pit stains'. It looks like a five o'clock shadow covers his whole body except for the small strip of stringy gray hair that circles around his head. I plaster on my phoniest smile and quickly discover how much it hurts.  
  
I guess I haven't even attempted to smile in a long time.  
  
I step up closer to the counter and move to rest my hands on top, but notice the grimy surface and bring them back down to my sides. The guy behind the counter still hasn't looked up from whatever he's doing........ uh... suddenly I don't think I want to find out what he's doing....  
  
I take a step back unconsciously.  
  
"Can I help you sweetheart?"  
  
His voice is low and gruff, and I wonder for a moment if I've landed in Brooklyn. But for some reason, I'm not intimidated. I actually feel..... strong. Exhilarated.  
  
"I need a room."  
  
At my voice he finally looks up. A smirk unravels over his lips as he takes me in.  
  
"What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?"  
  
The smile leaves my face, and I stare at him openly-- my brows furrowed in confused, sarcastic, scrutiny. For some reason I find that oddly..... cliche-- and it makes me feel brave-- like a completely new person.  
  
I am a new person.  
  
The corners of my mouth quirk up ever-so-slightly, and I offer him a dangerous stare.  
  
"I'm here to check your pipes."  
  
The guy blinks once....... twice..... And then he bursts out laughing.  
  
"What's your name doll?"  
  
I pause only a minute, letting my first real smile break out on my face.  
  
"Paige...... Paige Spencer." 


	20. Lovelorn

Chapter 20  
  
I haven't stopped giggling since I laid down.  
  
Who needs real thought when you're in an alternate universe like this?  
  
I wipe the laughter-induced tears out of my eyes and chance another look-- Nope. The image is still there-- the reflection of me on the ceiling, surrounded by the the 70's bedspread from hell, and my god, I never knew they existed-- shag pillows. My plaid pyjamas are rumpled and clash wonderfully with my surroundings, and my muddy boots hang off the end of the bed.  
  
Should I ever survive this little endeavor, I need to document this-- this pure, element-like stupidity. I'm sure the sheer idiocy of this moment only comes along at the rate of a lunar eclipse.....  
  
I peel myself off the bed, still laughing with the knowledge that a ceiling mirror is still staring down at me from above. Do people actually get off on that? I mean, how erotic can it be, when I can't even look at myself fully clothed without chuckling? I can't do anything here without chuckling-- I mean, god-- this is an actual life for some people--  
  
I can't seem to see this like anything other than a tripped-out ride at Disneyland.  
  
I guess I need to put on the goofy costume and pretend I'm part of it...... Try to make this my life. I can do that-- I can take a shower, eat something, go buy some clothes....  
  
I tilt my head back up, and for a second I see him in the glass-- his smooth back sheened with sweat, his buttocks pumping in fluid motion-- up.... down...up....... down -- the tendrils of hair at the back of his neck dark with dampness as he lowers to kiss me once more......  
  
I need to take that shower now...... A cold one.  
  
I rise from the bed, stiff legged and dizzy. I guess it's fitting I feel just as awful as I look. I move in the general direction of the bathroom, but I have no real concept of navigation. Images are still flashing in my head, making it hard for me to see straight.  
  
Why did I see that? He's dead Emily. Dead. You know what that means.  
  
Besides, he wasn't yours to begin with-- he was Elizabeth's.  
  
And with that thought my slightly euphoric state sours. Elizabeth. My 'best friend'. My only girlfriend. That's fitting-- really. I finally get a girlfriend and all I can think of is screwing the brains out of her true love.  
  
No-- No I decide-- that's the real bullshit of it all. True love my ass. If there really is such a thing as true love Lucky and Elizabeth didn't have it-- otherwise he wouldn't have been at my bedside nursing me in a way no one else could.  
  
You'll have to forgive me if I don't sound indulgent in such "ecstacies" as love. It's not exactly like I had the greatest of examples-- Mom and Dad? Ha. Don't even know what he looked like-- Alan and Monica-- god. They're more of a case study than a romance story. According to my watch they're about ready for the annual affair showdown. I mean if they question their solid love as often as they have a new lover in bed..........  
  
Ooooh yeah Em...... Keep 'em rolling.  
  
Ned and Lois. Storybook right there-- I wonder which one of Grimm's ends with her on the other end of the Brooklyn Bridge.  
  
Luke and Laura-- man. Up until last year I was still hearing stories about them-- their beautiful wedding-- their endless love-- they could have been on the cover of Time as the greatest love story.....  
  
Tony and Bobbie, Kevin and Lucy, Carly and AJ-- Ha! I won't even go there.........  
  
Brenda and Sonny and Jax-- What in the hell was that exactly anyway?!  
  
Forgive me Aphrodite and Eros if I insult you, but love.......  
  
Let's face it-- if love exists in this world today it is only to sell Hallmark cards.  
  
Yeah-- there's a good card right there too-- 'Dearest Elizabeth, my deepest sympathies on my mentally screwing your boyfriend'.....  
  
I step out of the mildewed shower and begin towelling myself off. They must have the search dogs out by now. I like the feeling of being here though-- I mean really-- nothing like hiding in the last possible place any normal person would want to be...  
  
Then again I'm not normal-- I'm a mental defect.  
  
And I like it.  
  
I glance over at the mirror bolted to the back of the bathroom door and pause. This motel room is starting to feel like more of a circus attraction-- what's with all these mirrors? The pimp that commisioned this building must have had a real 'me' complex.....  
  
My nude body looks hallowed and strung out-- my ribs are protruding, my arms look like sticks dangling at my sides. When was the last time I had a meal that wasn't fed to me through a tube?  
  
I need to rebuild my carrion, fill in the voids-- make it alive again. And maybe if I can do that with my body--  
  
-- maybe I can do it with my mind. 


	21. Used

Chapter 21  
  
It doesn't take me long to find a used clothing store on the streets. Business obviously is more of a 'service' industry here than an actual 'product' type of thing, but the walls need to be taken up with something-- why not something as unattractive as used clothing....   
  
I don't believe I've ever actually set foot in one before-- I feel like I have. I feel like I have Lucky's memories inside my head-- fueling me..... I can hear him telling me about the time he had to switch clothes at a reesale store to allude 'the bad guys'-- that's all I'm doing too. Alluding the 'bad guys'. Of course I have no idea who they are-- I think they might just be in my head too.   
  
I don't really know. I don't really care. I'm just going to keep moving.  
  
I walk to the door of the store tensing slightly as I pass the drunken old man that has made himself a doorstop on the sidewalk. I can't help letting some parts of the old me surface-- the me that was the "Quartermaine princess".... It makes me inexplicably angry with myself, and I force my body to relax-- I remember the flight I'm on, I return to my current epiphany, and I don't have to force the relaxation.   
  
I step inside the musty store and chance a look around. No one notices my pajama bottoms, my hair still wet from my shower-- they are all too submerged in their own scrounging. I watch with interest as the varied women dig to the bottoms of the barrels of mismatched clothing. They collect bundles in their arms and hurry to the next, and I slowly make my way to match their actions. I feel silly and covert at the same time-- like I'm pretending to be an undercover agent, infiltrating a life I don't come from, but somehow understanding. I look at the woman across from me, her arms elbow deep in a bin of dirty underpants and stare in awe.   
  
This isn't a game. People live like this. People were here, suffering, while I was living ignorantly in my white castle.  
  
The woman looks up at me and catches my stare.  
  
"Whatta you lookin' at?! See somethin' interesting?!"  
  
Yes, I do. I can do nothing physically, but open my mouth frutilessly to respond and glance away. I do see something though-- I see myself, mirrored in this angry, shunned old woman. I skim my eyes over her one more time and take my armful of clothes to the counter. I numbly pay my minimal amount and retreat out the door, leaving behind the whole new world I just encountered. I feel so strange-- I don't attempt to sort it out. Just let it soak in Emily, let this life, this world, this own strange happiness soak in.....  
  
I pause as I'm about to cross the street and turn back around. The lowly drunk is still slouched against the cold brick of the building, and I feel a jolt of electricity flow through my body. I'm still musing on the feeling of life in my deadened limbs when I realize I am on the ground, eye to eye with the old man. He studies me with interest, and I do likewise. Then I reach in my pocket and pull out a small wad of cash. I remove the nearly empty bottle from his weak hand and replace it with the money.  
  
He stares uncomprehendingly at his dirty hand, and then returns his gaze to my eyes. His eyes are blue, I think dumbly.... I glance back at our joined hands, and back to him. I don't know why, but I love this old man-- this stranger. It's again a different reality and I have no urge to shake it off. Instead I choose to give him one word of advice...  
  
"Live." 


	22. Live

Chapter 22  
  
"Live" I had told the old man. "Live". At the moment it had seemed the perfect thing to say, but days later I realize the irony.  
  
Blind leading the blind.  
  
I wonder if he would be offended that a walking zombie told him to get a life.....  
  
I think what really bothers me is another self-realization has just occurred, and I really can't say I like it--  
  
I'm a hypocrite.  
  
I mean really, that's fine Em-- go around spouting romantic notions of carpe diem, but you're still hauled up in this motel room. And you know what the worst part of realizing you're a hypocrite is? There's absolutely no one to blame-- no one--  
  
Except yourself.   
  
Not an alluring option. What am I kidding? No option-- no blame game-- this is all me.  
  
I look around my adopted home and feel the tremor work its way from my insides out.  
  
  
  
"Live, live, live......"  
  
Am I speaking? I'm speaking.  
  
The walls feel like they're closing in-- moving closer and closer. I feel like I can actually see them with their menacing glares. So I close my eyes. Then I realize there's something more menacing than these walls--the darkness of my own mind.  
  
And I can't breathe.  
  
It's strange how there was a time, still are times when I welcome the idea of not breathing. I wish that I could just stop-- my body wouldn't fight me and force me to respire and I wouldn't mind. But now that my body's not allowing me breath, I do mind. I mind alot.  
  
Hypocrite.  
  
I'm out the door before I know it-- my hair blowing in the dark night as I run down the litter-infested street. I have no idea where I'm going, or what exactly the hell I think I'm doing-- but I'm moving.  
  
See this? Alive girl-- moving. Running. That's what we alive people do. Run-- I guess.  
  
I just keep going. I have no concept of navigation, and even if I were to take the time to worry about such a thing right now, it wouldn't fit in my head. I'm consumed-- completely-- totally. Was there ever a time in my life I was truly alive? Living in Arizona with mom? Meeting Lucky and Sly for the first time? Thinking I had feelings for Nikolas? Finding my 'passion' in modeling?  
  
No, no, no, no, no.........  
  
I think I felt most alive when I was in my coma-- When I shouldn't have had any reason to feel alive--When he touched me.   
  
He's gone now.  
  
I run harder, blind to the people and places whizzing by me. There's a burn behind my eyes, but I don't cry. I don't know if it's because I won't allow myself, or because I simply can't.  
  
"Live, live, live....... die, die, die"  
  
I feel myself stumble, and I know I've officially lost any coordination of my body. My feet leave the ground, and for a second my vision comes back to me--  
  
And I'm greeted with the friendly sight of grass flying at my head.  
  
I lay in the heap on the ground, allowing myself a few pathetic ponderances as to where I'd find grass in this concrete hell, and realize I'm in a park of some sort. I can see the area in the sallow yellow street lights. Is park the right word for it? I've always associated the word park with swings and children-- couples on picnic blankets...... this is definately not that kind of park.  
  
I should get up. I should run. I should at least check my hands to see if I've fallen on any dirty needles.......  
  
  
  
I lay where I am instead- I wonder if I've sustained a head injury? Probably not-I wouldn't be so lucky. But man it'd be nice to just be another fatality of this park. A shadow falls over my body, and I look up in pure curiosity.  
  
"Took a header huh?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Not a very intelligent answer I know, but the only one possible right now. I squint against the light and study the figure over me. He's around my age with unkempt, poorly dyed black hair and piercing blue eyes. He wears baggy jeans, and a faded black hooded sweatshirt with holes cut into the cuffs for his thumbs. He watches me with an air of indifferance, and I blankly study him.  
  
"Want help?"  
  
I respond immediately.  
  
"No."  
  
I slowly pull myself off the ground and meet him eye to eye. He's only slightly taller than me.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
I don't even have to think about it. I don't think I even remember my old name.... It's like an unliked and forqotten alias. I no longer am Emily Quartermaine.   
  
Maybe she never existed at all.  
  
"Paige Spencer."  
  
He nods, unimpressed.  
  
"So Spencer, you messed up or somethin'?"  
  
How to respond to that? Yes? No? More than you can imagine?  
  
"Just havinq a bad night-"  
  
I expell a hallow sigh and look at him wearily.  
  
"A bad life actually."  
  
I laugh the laugh that has become all too familiar to me lately-the sound that has become painful to myself. Maybe if I ever get brave enough that will be my next resolution-to not laugh unless it's real.  
  
The kid is really studyinq me now and I can read the sympathetic but understanding expression on his face. Part of me mentally cringes at the thought that I am low enough in my own life that this poor kid feels bad for me-part of me is grateful.  
  
He flashes me a smile.  
  
"You want to go to a party?"  
  
Time around me seems nonexistant as I stare at him. To live or not to live.... That is the question......... 


	23. Advice

Chapter 23  
  
We work our way down some back alleyways, and I feel myself being sucked further into the proverbial rabbit's hole. The streetlights are higher up-- attached to the tops of the run down buildings we pass, making the path shadowed, and the little light even more pale. I can still make out the kid's figure in front of me-- a body by the name of Brent, as I have learned on our short trek. It's all I really know about this guy-- and all I care to know. I don't want to know who he is, where he's from, or where he's taking me. I just want to blindly walk into something.  
  
If ignorance is bliss, I'm orgasmic.  
  
He slows down and I follow the slight turn of his body to a hole in the ground. On closer inspection I realize it's not a hole, but a darkened doorway that seems to run into the basement of a nondescript building. I follow him down the cracked steps, stumbling slightly when he stops at the bottom.  
  
"You ever party Spencer?"  
  
I stare at him as my mind draws a blank. What does that mean? "Party"-- does he mean drugs? Weed, coke, LSD? Booze? Or does he mean life? Is he refering to feeling truly alive? Does he want my past? Or does he want to know that I was virtually born yesterday? That my life just started a few weeks ago?  
  
My head is a jumble, and yet I can formulate an image of how stupid I must look right now gaping at him.  
  
He must get his answer from the look on my face because he gives me a smile and grabs my hand.  
  
"Hang on."  
  
He opens the door quickly, and we slip inside. I barely have time to process the loud music or the flood of people as he drags me deeper in. I feel a sudden rush as I glance the unfamiliar surroundings. It's like I've entered a whole other world-- One I barely knew existed from what I saw on television less than a year ago-- But it does-- In real life-- In flesh and blood, and I'm quickly being engulfed by it.  
  
We go deeper, and deeper, and I feel my excitement grow.  
  
As we emerge from the crowd I can make out a small group of people in the corner of the room. They're slumped against the wall, laying on the floor, sitting in each other's laps--   
  
If we were in a bar-- these would be the people who had their "own" barstool.....These are the regulars.  
  
I don't know why but I stand there dumbly watching them. For some reason I've formed some sort of admiration for them-- they look so relaxed-- happy-- free.  
  
"Come on--"  
  
Brent tugs at my hand, breaking me out of my reverie, and we head straight for the group. I feel myself slightly tremble in aticipation, and I force my body into a laid-back dance to cover the fact from him.  
  
We stop in front of them, and they look up in expectation. I look back at them the same.  
  
It's like I've been beamed onto the mothership.  
  
"Hey guys-- How's it goin'? This is Spencer."  
  
He raises our joined hands forcing me closer. I feel like I'm living in slow motion again as I stumble in front of them for inspection. I blink an elongated blink, waiting as if I'm awaiting my sentence-- but it never comes.  
  
I'm not shunned-- I'm not an outcast. I'm accepted. That's never really happened to me before. It's kinda awe inspiring.....  
  
Before I know it, I'm sitting among them-- laughing with conversations and inside jokes I don't understand. It occurs to me how strange and exhilerating this is--like deja vu that is mismatched in emotion-- like I know that this is the part where they turn and ask why I'm still there or my awkwardness takes over and I sneak away--just, in this case it never happens.  
  
"So Spencer-- where you from?"  
  
I look at the girl whose name I recently learned is Deanna and meet her inquisitive green eyes. I wonder if she can see it behind my own eyes-- the hot Arizona sun, the cold New York winters, the places I've been, the things I've seen...... But I know she can't-- because I can't see those things myself.  
  
The only thing looking back at her is the blank canvas that has become me.  
  
"Nowhere....... Everywhere."   
  
She grins back at me.  
  
"Yeah-- I totally get that. I jumped ship when I was fifteen-- I mean, I didn't need to put up with that sh*t, you know? Told my little sis' I would come back for her when I could, but she ended up shackin' up with some guy from Long Island-- I wasn't pissed or anything, I mean if she could get outta there on her own kudos to her, you know?"  
  
I nod like an understanding student, and her head tilts.  
  
"When did you skip out?"   
  
I let my eyes wander as I percolate the answer.  
  
"A couple weeks ago."   
  
Her face lights in excitement.  
  
"Oooh! A virgin! Let me give you a few words of advice-- you know that old saying, 'just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you'?-- It's true. If there's one thing you need to learn it's that *everyone* is after you-- the pigs are always out looking for a fresh runaway-- dealers want clients, pimps want employees, and if you're lucky, you have parents like mine that don't give a damn about you and won't add to the mess. There's only one person you can trust-- yourself-- and if you can't trust yourself, well, then you're f*cked, because you need to be able to sort it out-- friend and enemy, fact and fiction, fun and danger-- not to say those things don't mingle-- in fact, in my experience they almost always do..... life wouldn't be fun without it..... But you just gotta be able to know when you can use those things-- it's all about one goal Spencer....."   
  
I feel completely entranced by this girl as I raise my voice over the booming bass.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
Deanna spreads a grin as she raises herself to stand. I watch her expectantly, wondering if she heard my question. She looks out over the crowd, her eyebrows peaking as she spots a familiar face in the crowd. She begins heading towards the mob. I try once more.  
  
"De?"  
  
She looks back at me like she'd nearly forgotten I was there, and once again her face breaks out in a broad smile. I look at her and instantly I know she heard my question--  
  
And I know I'm not getting the answer tonight.  
  
"Have fun Spencer." 


	24. Drunk

Chapter 24  
  
I was weary to take the first sip-- nervous about the second, thought about the third....  
  
And by the time I got back to my room I was toasted.  
  
I never intended it to happen-- I mean I guess I've kinda avoided the bottle since Matt and my near attempt at becoming the third Wright Brother, but it wasn't planned-- hell nothing about tonight resembled anything near order.... But I think-- as much as my alcohol soaked brain will let me-- that may be what I enjoyed the most about it. Like that racecar driver just barely on the verge of control and fate.  
  
My inebriated state simply magnified it.  
  
I lie back on my bed and feel the motel room dip and spin around my prone form. I feel better. But that always was my problem. Drinking made me feel better. I guess I still don't understand it. I mean we teach our children from birth, that when you feel bad you take something-- got a headache-- take an aspirin, got a stomachache--take an antacid, if you're feeling down why not try the natural healing power of St. John's wort-- coughing? Runny nose? Can't stay awake? Can't sleep? Drink this, take that, hell-- does it come in a patch? I was simply curing what ailed me. What's the big deal?  
  
I mean sure-- I saw what drinking did to AJ-- to Jason-- but I am different. I can't hurt anyone.... I'm not big enough, or powerful enough--  
  
There's no one for me to hurt.  
  
This is a different life-- different circumstances.  
  
I hear the toilet flush, and Brent emerges from the bathroom.  
  
"Dude. I must say I've puked in worse places!"  
  
His laughter is strange to my senses, and my chest aches for a moment when I realize how long it's been since I've heard the sound.  
  
He staggers over to the bed and lets himself fall-- the bedsprings under me squeak in response and my body rolls towards his added weight. I lay there staring at the side of his face for several moments. At this proximity, I discover you can see every little imperfection-- every whisker, every crease, every scar. Brent has a little mole above the corner of his eye. I don't know why this is important-- but at the moment it just is.  
  
My eyes slide from the mole, down the side of his face, and come to rest on his lips. I remember the days when the thought of lying in bed with someone of the opposite sex would have caused me to blush. How taboo...  
  
  
  
Now I lie in contemplation. I feel familiar flutters beginning in my stomach the more I think, and chastise myself. He hasn't even made any indication that he's remotely interested in me that way.  
  
He turns his face and our lips are inches away.   
  
"Did you have a good time?"  
  
I can smell the alcohol and smoke rolling between us. It brings me back to the club-the people-the laughter-  
  
"Yeah. I did. I really did."  
  
I watch those lips as they curve into a smile.  
  
"That's what it's about..."  
  
"Your friends are really great-"  
  
He turns his head away and gives an abrupt laugh before looking back at me.  
  
"*My* friends?! Man Spencer, you don't get it. There's no mine, yours, his, hers.. you're in. You're a part of it now."  
  
I'm in. I'm in? What the hell does that mean anyway? God, I hope I didn't join a cult...  
  
My eyes drift back to his lips. I don't really think I'm attracted to him, but I still am feeling those nervous jitters in my gut. What if he tries to kiss me? We are, after all, both drunk. My nerves rise in intensity. I try and visualize the scenario-my reaction, how it would feel, what I would do-but it only results in a dulled sense of panic. How far should I let it go? And how should I stop it? Because I will have to stop it-I'm not even attracted to him for god's sake... I barely know him...  
  
My reverie is broken by the waving of the mattress as Brent rolls off the bed and onto his feet.  
  
Wait a minute. Where the hell is he going?! He hasn't even made a move on me yet!  
  
"I'm gonna take off."  
  
What?  
  
He starts for the door. I barely recover from my inflamed sense of rejection as I watch his feet as he staggers away. It looks like they are in some sort of argument, and his left foot is repeatedly chasing after the right in an attempt to attack it.  
  
"Where are you-what?"  
  
Intelligent Emily... Paige... Spencer-whoever the hell you are.  
  
"I'm gonna go to Boston."  
  
His words come out slurred-or at least that's what it sounds like. I don't know-at this point it could very well be my hearing that's impaired.  
  
"Boston?"  
  
"Yeah, I've never been there before. I gotta friend that slummin' it out there-think I might look him up."  
  
"Now?"  
  
"Why the hell not?"  
  
His hand reaches the doorknob, and he turns it with an agility that is unbefitting of a man who can't walk straight.  
  
"See you 'round Spencer."  
  
And he disappears.   
  
I catch the pale pink color of the rising dawn through the closing door. I want to run after him. I want to ask him to stay with me. I want to beg him to take me with. I want to follow him on his journey.  
  
But I just sit on the bed and watch the door click shut.  
  
Alone. Again. 


End file.
